Hi, there! I’m Tipper Allen, and guess what? Momma has been really really sad this week, so I’ve been giving her extra purrs and snuggles. I’ve also been digging up Poppa’s aloe plants to kick up a fuss and distract her.
Momma says her friend, Jane, was a proud “crazy cat lady.” Jane had four or five indoor cats, and tooked care of a bunch of what Momma calls feral cats outside. Momma says Jane worked with Alley Cat Allies (Advocates?) to catch them, give them big-boy and big-girl operations, notch their ears so people would know they had been done, and bring them back home. Jane would feed them and doctor them if they got sick.
She had snug shelter places for them for the winter or when it rained. Momma used to come home from having lunch wif Jane and tell me about who was living in The Princess House (the old playhouse that only the top girl cats could claim a place in).
Jane useded to comment on my Caturday posts and tell about her cats. Here are some of her stories:
My dear buddy Blackjack would not play with new toys I bought him. They were mine, he recognized, not his. Then I acquired a second-hand catnip mouse, pre-dirtied and everything. Blackjack went for it with gusto. Eventually, the catnip mouse became no more than a catnip sock, but it still was that big boy’s only toy.
My boy Blackjack would take direction when posing for me. I’d give him the usual instructions, like, “Hold that right there,” “Look this way a little more,” etc. As a consequence, many of his pictures are perfect portraits except that his ears are often tilted in my direction listening to me direct. Oh, well.
We had to take shelter in the basement once. I dragged both the cats downstairs, and, wouldn’t you know it? Nicholas loved it. The storm sirens wailing. Going down into the nasty basement where he didn’t usually get to go… Next month, when the noon first Tuesday sirens went off (testing only), the big boy raced for the basement door, eager for another adventure. Goofy boy.
… my late friend Tootsie would always pee on something. One time, I had OTHER girls over for the night in OUR apartment, and she peed smack dab in the center of the bed. AND she stood there, going, “Yeah, I did it. How hard are you going to smack me for this one, eh, copper?? Not hard enough to break me. Yeah, I can take it. Yeah. Meow!”
Tootsie would see me packing up the go-bag and go nuts. She’d crouch under the chair growling in a loud and creepy way (just the way she did everything), and if I should come back to get something I forgot, she’d make a big angry charge at me, with more growling, just to remind me how unhappy she was. She finally got to go to the farm and growl at real critters. I hear she enjoyed it.
I came into the living room one day, after hearing some suspicious noises, to discover Tootsie entangled in the curtains, holding on with her front paws and pushing off the window with her back feet. She’d swing out from the window and then swing back, only to push off once again. WHEEE!! (She didn’t actually say, Whee. I’m just adding a little dialogue here.) She looked around suddenly , recognized she’d been caught, and darted off. I examined the curtains and discovered this had not been her first rodeo, as they say. Held up the light, the curtains revealed numerous little claw-pricks up and down their length.
No matter how bad I am, Momma says, “At least you’re not as bad as Tootsie.” Momma says one time, Tootsie snuggled up to her on Jane’s couch, and she figured Tootsie had finally accepted her. Then she stood up to leave, picked up her purse — and the strap fell off. Tootsie had cuddled up there, letting Momma pet her, and all the time she was chewing through that purse strap! Thanks, Tootsie, for setting the bad-cat bar so high for the rest of us!
A WRITING PROMPT FOR ANIMALS: What’s the worsterest fing you ever did?